


male fantasies

by alamorn



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11917716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Santanico has not cared for men or beauty since the two combined killed her.





	male fantasies

Santanico has not cared for men or beauty since the two combined killed her. Beauty has brought her nothing but men, and men have brought her nothing but pain. They want her on a pedestal — a literal one, at first, and then the temple built around her like an offering instead of a prison — but more than that they want her down on her knees. They call her a queen and bend her over. They call her a goddess and slap her in chains.

No, Santanico does not care for men. She cares even less for their titles. But she needs a key to her cage and she knows the stories. She needs the hero brothers. She needs a prophet.

 

(One time, Richie looks over at her, awe already on the way to disgust and said, “If you couldn’t find me, you would’ve just made me, wouldn’t you?”

She does not tell him: “I did.”)

 

Carlos is her eyes and ears, and the only payment he requires is soft looks and soft words, and to be able to touch her body whenever he wants to. Sometimes, she does not quite forget that he raped her while she was still raw from Malvado, but the knowledge slides under the surface. Sometimes, she hates him so much her throat closes up and the place where her snake should be clenches cold and empty. Sometimes, he gets on his knees for her and his gaze is a physical weight dragging her down, down, down.

Carlos finds the Geckos for her; separated and vulnerable but capable of anything once put together. He gives Seth a pitch. He gives Richie her knife.

Richie’s mind is a fertile field and a scorched earth at the same time. He’s like a prism. Everything that comes in gets focused together, until it scorches. It made him a brilliant criminal. Now, it will make him a prophet.

She whispers in his dreams, in his reflection, in his ear. She says, “Set me free.” She says, “Don’t trust them.” She says, “You have to find me.” She doesn’t give him a minute to breathe, to recover, to find his feet. Off-balance, he leans on her. She puts herself on the pedestal. She puts herself on her knees.

No man has thought twice yet.

 

(Men are always willing to believe two things about women: One, that they are attracted to that man. Two, that they are helpless without a man.

Even after five hundred years, they still haven’t learned.)

 

Carlos sets the Fullers on a collision course with the Geckos. She’s not sure how, or if there was anything to the decision other than their RV, and she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t care about them. Later, she’ll have time to feel a little bad about it, but the moment she sees Richie, her blood fizzes in her veins. This is it. She will be free.

The _Rinche_ is a complication, a nuisance, but in the end it works out. She could even thank him for forcing Richie’s hand the way he did. She has heard the Gecko mantra: _Here’s to getting rich and fat. And dying in the arms of a beautiful woman._

She grants him that wish. She builds him another.

 _Set me free_.

 

(Putting Carlos back together is like stepping into her old prison. It needs to be done, she knows it needs to be done, but her heart is heavy.

She misses—

Carlos tells her she is a queen, over and over again. He still says it like it means _something to fuck_ instead of _ruler_.

If it will shut him up, she will be queen. But she will not let him define it.)

 

Richie worships her.

That’s a kind way to say that he doesn’t understand her, and doesn’t want to. He talks about movies and gets frustrated when she doesn’t understand. He insists on taking the crown, rather than destroying the kingdom.

She will be grateful to him always, but he was a better prophet than lover. He wants her to be Santanico Pandemonium, dancing on the stage. She wants to be Kisa, no longer afraid of the light.

 

(Richie gives her a bracelet. He means well, but it is heavy when he fastens it to her wrist. Heavy as the stone that kept her from the sky for five hundred years. Heavy as the expectations that come with it.

She cannot stand wearing it. Not when she thought she was free.)

 

Paloma is beautiful and cunning and learns quickly. Paloma hates her.

It shouldn’t hurt. Paloma is just flesh, just a means to an end. She only knows Paloma’s name because Paloma is bolder than the others.

And yet it hurts. Kisa looks at Paloma and sees herself, frightened and desperate. Kisa looks at Paloma and sees hope. If she can get Paloma through this angrier than before but still alive, still capable of healing and loving and moving on, then maybe Kisa can do all of those things.

 

(Here is the secret Kisa has learned: You must walk your own road. You cannot watch another succeed and say, “There, that’s how to do it. It’s done.” The road is tricky. It will change under your feet. The world does not care if you succeed.

Here is another: You cannot walk someone else’s path for them, but you can reach out your hand and say, “This way.”)

 

She kills Malvado. It doesn’t heal her, but it does wash the salt from the wound. She _can_ heal now. Not in this place, surrounded by the things he made, the people he used. Not watching her prophet ignore everything she has ever preached.

She gets on a bike. She roams. Freedom is still intoxicating. She can’t stand under the sun, but she can feel the breeze on her skin. She can bury her toes in the dirt. That’s enough, for now.

 

(When they turned a sweet young girl into a bloodthirsty monster, they didn’t expect her to _like_ it. They didn’t expect her to want _their_ blood.

Malvado said, “You are a goddess.”

Malvado said, “Get on your knees.”

The guilt of Paloma’s death rides her. To consign others to slavery, when she has taken her freedom…

She protects those who cannot protect themselves. She is not kind, but she _is_ fair. It is more than most have ever hoped for. They gather to her. They do not call her _queen_. It feels better, but still not quite…right.)

 

She saves Manola and Manola saves her. Manola doesn’t say, “You’re a monster.” She doesn’t say, “You’re beautiful,” either. She says, “Thank you.” She says, “Can I help?”

And as easy as that, Kisa falls in love.

Manola doesn’t _want_ anything from her.

That’s not true. Manola wants _many_ things from her. Manola doesn’t _expect_ anything from her. Not in the way Malvado did, where Kisa was an object to own and consume. Not in the way Carlos did, where he assumed service entitled him to whatever reward he chose. Not even in the way Richie did, operating off of expectations more than any true feelings.

Manola says, “Can I help?” and that’s what she means. Kisa can see the way Manola eyes her, can hear Manola’s heart beating, but Manola says nothing, and does not make up excuses to touch her.

Kisa pushes it as long as she can bear for the sheer novelty of having boundaries. Of having a body that no one else can touch or claim.

 

(When she kisses Manola, Manola melts into it with a sigh. Kisa wants to make her _moan_ eventually, but they just kiss at first. And hold hands.

Manola lets her decide the pace. Manola never touches her without asking. Manola never asks her _why_ she is so protective of her space.

Kisa has never been so in love. Of course, it ends.)

 

The thing inside of Kate kills Manola to hurt her, because the thing inside of Kate thinks Kisa has any interest in being _queen_. Kisa has never hated the title more.

 

(She digs up Carlos and he says, “Did you miss me?”

He says, “We’re still a great team.”

He says, “You’re their queen.”

She does not rip him apart once more, but it is a near thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is old, but i recently remembered how much i love Kisa and decided to post it


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